


Take Me Home To My Heart

by Kaiidth



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Thorin is a sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiidth/pseuds/Kaiidth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <cite>All were born the same, with eyes blank and souls incomplete, waiting for their other half. Was it a child of men, little hobbitling, dwarfling or a little elfling, all walked the Arda with white, colourless eyes, through childhood and into adulthood, until they found their One, who brightened their world and filled their eyes with colour, hearts with love and joy.</cite>
  </p>
</blockquote>Story how Bilbo lost his precious, but had it returned to him anew. Or how Thorin would not side with Thranduil for Erebor's sake, but did unite races to protect his home.
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home To My Heart

Yesterday I died, tomorrow's bleeding.  
Fall into your sunlight.  
The future's open wide, beyond believing.  
To know why, hope dies.  
Losing what was found, a world so hollow.  
Suspended in a compromise.  
The silence of this sound, is soon to follow.  
Somehow, sundown.

*

Four races walked the lands of the Middle-earth. Four proper races that is, orcs didn't count.

The hobbits, with their peaceful lives and their fierce love of food and drink, always vibrant and full of joy, living in their cosy little dwellings with gardens full of flowers.

The elves, the graceful creatures, loving the nature above all, old and wise, seeing events that were yet to come, their laughter and songs light and free, even with the burden of immortality upon them.

The men, with their horses and wars and kingdoms, the men too big for Shire.

And the dwarves. Dwarves with their precious gems and gold and mountains, with hearts of stone, they said.

So unlike the four were, so different, that if you were to take one of each and place them in a row, you wouldn't believe it to be possible to find any similarities.

And yet, there were.

All were born the same, with eyes blank and souls incomplete, waiting for their other half. Was it a child of men, little hobbitling, dwarfling or a little elfling, all walked the Arda with white, colourless eyes, through childhood and into adulthood, until they found their One, who brightened their world and filled their eyes with colour, hearts with love and joy.

Some waited longer than others, some unfortunate souls even forever. Some lost their other halves, and lived the rests of their lives with longing and sadness, that could never be erased, eyes turned grey as ashes.

Very rarely, but it happened—unbelievably—the pair would go separate ways, even after finding each other and their eyes would turn the oddest shade of grey, silver almost. From distance it appeared as if the owners of such eyes were crying—their eyes of colour grey with glittering, shining tears—as if saddened by the distance between themselves and the one their heart called for. The reasons for a decision to stay apart differed, were always complicated, the situations extremely unfortunate, as every person felt the pull towards their One and would never willingly abandon them.

The rumour went, that the royalty of men and dwarves would marry, or would be forced to marry, for gold, for influence, for position among their kind, ignoring the calls of their heart. All of them have silver eyes, the whispers spread, That's why they wear the stripes—to cover their ill doings.

The stripes of translucent fabric were ancient, nobody knew where they originated from, as it seemed they were always there, worn across the eyes, by all dwarves and men. Translucent they were, so the vision remained unlimited, yet the fabric was most peculiar, such that no colours came through it. Even black was reduced to pale grey. And so the eyes of all who wore it, appeared white as those of unbonded yet, or a shade of pale grey, depending on the angle you looked from. But no matter how hard you'd look, you would not see even a glimpse of the real colour.

The stripes were a common thing among men and dwarves and it was rather unusual to see a member of these races without it, though some dwarves would uncover their eyes for the world to see, when they found their other half.

Elves didn't wear them, which made them even more alien for many—unsettling, weird, piercing stares, said men who saw elvish eyes; dwarves said worse—but not for hobbits.

Hobbits considered the stripes quite ridiculous and saw no point in wearing them.

*

The stripes were weird, young Bilbo Baggins thought as he watched a group of dwarves leaving the Prancing Pony.

But as the hobbit never saw them worn before, they also fascinated him greatly and he has found himself studying them as the evening went. Some dwarves had them decorated with little gems, some lined with gold or silver, some were plain. Some had them on the top of their hair, encircling their whole head to be clasped at the back, some had them going behind their ears, beneath the hair and one or two had them braided into their hair.

They looked strange to the hobbit, and he wasn't any closer to understanding why would anyone wear them. He observed the dwarves and the remaining men when the dwarves left, nonetheless. That was after all, the main reason he travelled to Bree. To see other races, learn some of their customs, see the stripes worn casually, naturally. 

Also young Bilbo liked travelling. The Tookish part of him seemed to be dominant.

He drank ale, talked to the local hobbits, they exchange news and stories, laughed and sung as the time went and Bilbo was glad he came. It was a pleasant experience and even when his neighbours back at home thought him weird, he didn't mind. Staying at Bag End alone became painful after his parents died, so traveling it was.

When the hour was late he stood up, bid goodnight to his cheerful companions and headed for the doors, intending to check on his pony before retiring for bed.

Just as he stepped outside a large body collided with him, almost sending him to the ground.

"Oy!" Bilbo cried, not truly annoyed, merely surprised. "Watch your steps, Master . . ." He lifted his head slowly, "Dwarf . . ." and his eyes found the eyes of the stranger gazing at him, pale beneath the fabric. ". . . Oh."

His gasped as he felt it. The exact things, they said that happen when you finally looked into your One's eyes for the first time. 

The world brightened, his vision becoming clear as if he had been looking through a filthy glass his entire life, and now it was removed. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt the pull. That is the one, he is my One. He could almost feel his eyes colouring.

Then the stranger—his One—opened his mouthed in shock as he must have seen the colour in Bilbo's eyes, and feel the pull too, surely. Bilbo didn't see his eyes though, covered as they were.

But he felt—Oh, his head was spinning.

There were strong hands on his shoulders suddenly, steadying him.

"Are you all right? Master—?" came the deep dwarf's voice, his brows furrowed in a frown.

"Bilbo," the hobbit managed. "My name is Bilbo Baggins. And I am quite all right indeed." And then he smiled tentatively, up at his One.

"Thorin Oakenshield," the dwarf said and didn't smile in the slightest, but stopped frowning at least. "At your service." 

He bowed awkwardly and quickly disappeared inside, leaving Bilbo staring after him, with open mouth.

~

Bilbo heard lots of stories of how people found their One. Oh, there was a fair share of hugging in them, smiling and laughing, crying even, but there were some when the relationship developed slower as well. And even though he didn't hear any in which either one run away like Thorin just did, the stories he knew were hobbit ones. Perhaps it was different with dwarves?

His One was a dwarf. He smiled. He didn't expect to find his One on this trip, young as he was, only 42, and certainly didn't think it would be a dwarf, but it didn't matter to him.

It wasn't very common to find a One in another race, but it happened sometimes. As well as it happened a male would find a male One, or a female a female one, or one would find his other half in one of his family members, sister, brother, cousin. The latter was not very usual, and was frowned upon by some, but mostly it was accepted, as the bond between two souls meant for each other, was cherished as a great gift.

When Bilbo stepped inside the inn again, with beating heart, he looked around the room searching for Thorin with uncertain eyes.

He saw three men playing cards at the largest table in the middle, laughing over their ales, at the smaller one sat the hobbits that made him company through the evening and in a dark corner he saw a hooded, lonely man smoking a pipe, but not a sign of any dwarf.

He wasn't there and Bilbo's heart clenched.

He walked slowly towards the lone table he occupied earlier, where an unfinished glass of ale was laid, intending to take it to his room.

"May I join you, Master Baggins?" came a rich voice from behind him and Bilbo almost jumped and then whirled around with a wide smile to see Thorin standing there.

"Of course! Please!" And maybe he said it a bit too enthusiastically, but he really thought Thorin wasn't going to show up and now he saw he only went to his room to put aside the heavy coat and his things and he came back, and it was such a relief.

Thorin huffed in amusement, and Bilbo felt his cheeks burning and dipped his head.

When he looked up, his One was looking at him and then he smiled slowly, hesitantly, as if he hadn't done it in a long time and Bilbo was lost.

~

They talked for long hours.

About unimportant things at first, the conversation hesitant, but as the night grew darker and the room emptier, their words were freer and smiles more frequent. Bilbo smiled, that is, not Thorin, but his mouth would twitch sometimes, or the corners would curl up a little, and Bilbo saw the small crinkles by his eyes and his heart felt warm.

And so Bilbo Baggins learned his One was no one else, but a king among his kind, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the great king under the Mountain, tales of whom reached even the Shire. This left him speechless for a moment, and he wondered what were the Valar doing, pairing a dwarvish king with a simple hobbit, but he shook his head, driving such thoughts away. This was his One, they would find a way.

Thorin told him about the life in Ered Luin and Bilbo talked about the Shire. Thorin laughed when he spoke of the pranks of his young distant nephews—from the Tookish side of course—and said they seemed a lot like his own nephews. When he asked about Bilbo's family, Bilbo told him, even if it still hurt, about his parents, and he closed his eyes when he felt a hand close over his in silent comfort.

They talked until the hour was late, and the owner of the inn, old Billy—who wished for nothing else but for them to leave, so he could close for the night and go to bed, surely—was scowling at them from the corner of his eye. Bilbo sensed it was time to end the conversation, however pleasant. But first.

"Thorin, what . . ." he started tentatively, looking somewhere over his One's shoulder. "What colour are my eyes?"

Thorin's eyebrows twitched in surprise and Bilbo wondered if perhaps he thought the question weird, as there was some sort of mirror in almost every room. But it was a tradition among hobbits, the pair would ask about the colour of each other's eyes when they met for the first time.

"Ah," the king stammered. "They—they're green."

Bilbo smiled and his gaze automatically shifted to his One's eyes, only to find them blank, staring at him from beneath the stripe of fabric. He wondered for the hundredth time. Why did they wear it? Would it be too impolite to ask him to put it aside so I could see? 

His open his mouth in a moment of boldness, but the dwarf looked away suddenly. "The hour is late, we should rest," he said and stood up and Bilbo let his hand, which reached out subconsciously, fall down. Never mind he would ask another time. 

"How long are you staying in Bree?" the dwarf asked.

"Oh, I don't have it planned. As long as it takes."

Thorin inclined his head. "Then I deem it best we meet here at breakfast tomorrow and discuss . . . further plans."

"Agreed." Bilbo smiled and his heart filled with joy. 

His One bowed his head with a small curl of lips. "Goodnight, Bilbo."

"Goodnight, Thorin."

~

The morning came and Bilbo waited almost until eleven, but no one came. His dwarf didn't show up. Overcomed with worry and fear he went to ask old Billy.

"The dwarf? Yes, I remember him," he answered distractedly, while washing the plates and cooking something in a large pot, simultaneously. "Some of his kind asked for him this morning, so I pointed them to his room. They left together long before sunrise. They seemed rather in hurry. Why'd you ask?" 

"Oh, just . . ." Bilbo's voice was lost in the sound of the water boiling. "Never mind, don't you know when he'll be back?"

"Back?" The man turned around to face Bilbo with a frown. "They took all his things and paid for him. He's not coming back."

"What?" Bilbo felt as if someone punched him in the chest, pushing the air out of his lungs.

A pile of plates behind Billy started to lean dangerously to the side, so he turned to steady it and begun to dry them, talking over his shoulder. "They said," he almost shouted as if Bilbo didn't hear him the first time. "He's not coming back! Why do you—" he turned to look at the hobbit. 

"Oh by the Valar!" he cried, dropping a plate which shatter on the ground, and hurried to the hobbit.

Bilbo stood unmoving, barely seeing the reality. His heart was breaking, aching, tearing apart within his chest and his eyes hurt. 

He's not coming back.

They marry for gold and power.

Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the king under the Mountain.

His One had left him. 

There were hands at his shoulders, large hands, but not the right ones. He heard Billy talking to him, apologizing—why was he apologizing, he had nothing to apologize for—offering him help—how did he think he could help? Only one could help Bilbo now. And he had left him, because he was a king and Bilbo was just a hobbit.

He didn't remember how he got out of the inn, didn't remember if he paid or just run away. The next time he looked around he was in the woods, on his way home, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He barely remembered the days he travelled, he had probably slept and eaten—or maybe not—and he though he saw the fair folk once, from the distance, but they didn't hear him, and as he went on, the beautiful singing died out. Or maybe he was starting to see things. He didn't imagine the looks though, he received in Hobbiton. The gasps and wide eyes, pointed fingers that were meant to be subtle but failed miserably at it, because a young Bilbo Baggins who went travelling with blank eyes, came home looking decades older, and eyes filled with silver and tears.

~

There weren't any hobbits with silver eyes. Bilbo Baggins became an exception, a curiosity and an object of speculations.

Some said Bilbo rejected his One to be free to travel and do those weird things of his, but majority disagreed.

First, Bilbo Baggins never travelled anymore and began to act like the most proper Baggins, even if a bit antisocial. Second, anyone who saw him could see he was the one rejected. The most popular theory was that he met someone on his travels that refused to return with him, rumours said it wasn't a hobbit, rather an elf, or even a dwarf or a man.

People felt sorry for him, and acted around him like you act around those with grey eyes, whose One is no longer among the living—kind and careful, even a bit wary. But hobbits, being the talkative creatures they were, discussed the matter greatly behind poor Bilbo's back. Some youngers even placed bets on whether an elf would show up at Bag End's door someday and Master Baggins' eyes would colour again.

But weeks went by, then months and years and no one came. The whispers died out gradually and other news were discussed in the inns, bets placed on how many more children would old Pelenora have, rather than on the race and gender of Bilbo's One.

The hobbits of the Shire slowly grew accustomed to the one of their kind who preferred to stay home with his books, over drinking and singing with kin and kith, whose eyes shone strangely among the earthily colours, with an ever-present deep sadness in them. He always stood out a bit, but somehow fit in at the same time, in his place in Bag End where young hobbits liked to visit and listen to the stories from his books or of his travels—though never about the last one—and some of the elders, too, for brief talks and cup of tea.

Bilbo Baggins didn't meet anyone who'd recoil in surprise at the sight of his eyes for long years. 

But a visit from an old wizard changed that, and turned his peaceful life upside down.

~

Dwalin's brows twitched when he first saw the colour of the hobbit's eyes, Balin's own eyes widened a fraction, but otherwise their faces were carefully schooled into neutral expressions.

Kíli's mouth fell open in surprise and he closed it only when his brother elbowed him it the side. Compared to that, Fíli's reaction was minimal.

("Fíli." "And Kíli." "At your service!" They bowed and the brown and blue pair of eyes twinkled with amusement. Fíli and Kíli. He remembered those names. As if he could forget anything about him and that night. But surely those were common names, he though, refusing to dwell on it any longer.)

The surprised faces of Ori, Nori, Dori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Glóin and Óin went unseen by Bilbo, as he was busy glaring at Gandalf, because of course this was the wizard's doing.

Bilbo managed his life without any dwarf for eight years and now there were twelve in Bag End for some unknown reason and the remainder was painful. Food was flying, dwarves laughing and singing, plates being tossed when there was no food left on them—or in the pantry for that matter—and it drove Bilbo crazy, making his head ache. He couldn't imagine it getting any worse.

Then someone knocked on the door instead of ringing like a normal person and Gandalf said "He's here" into the sudden silence.

The wizard went to open the door and the dwarves followed, leaving Bilbo in the gratefully empty kitchen. He sight, rubbed his neck and wondered what have Gandalf dragged him into.

Then, he heard his voice. 

"Gandalf." He could never forget the deep rich voice.

"I though you said this place would be easy to find."

Bilbo turned around in a fraction of second and pushed his way through the crowded corridor, ignoring the protests, just to get to the doors, just to see, to know if it was him, or his head was playing tricks on him again.

"I lost my way. Twice. I wouldn't have found it at all, weren't it for that mark at the door."

And there he was, his back to Bilbo, putting off that ridiculous coat of his. Slowly he turned and his eyes found Bilbo's. The hobbit was frozen, overcomed by shock and pain.

Thorin stared at Bilbo for a moment, and behind the stripe his eyes widened. 

Gandalf said something about being sorry for ruining Bilbo's door with his mark. Bilbo didn't care. 

He stared at his One—his One who had left him without a word—his hands shaking, and he wasn't sure if it was from grief or anger.

Then Gandalf introduced the dwarf and Bilbo wanted to scream I know who he fucking is, but Thorin's expression closed off and he looked at Bilbo as if he was the biggest scum of the earth.

"So this is the hobbit," he said, as if he didn't know him. Bilbo wanted to scream something closer to fuck you.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." They laughed and every bit of Bilbo's anger disappeared, leaving unbearable pain and hurt instead, and he felt like crying.

And when they told him about the quest, he though not even a dragon could be worse than what he felt like when Thorin ignored him, and agreed to go.

He would follow his heart's desire, even if he wasn't desired in return.

Late at night when he listened to the dwarves singing and humming, Thorin's deep voice soaring above all others, singing about loss and loneliness and hope, he let his tears fell, in the privacy of his own room.

Because loss and loneliness he knew, and when he closed his eyes he could pretend Thorin was not singing about reclaiming his mountain, but about founding his way to his One once more.

~

Thorin ignored him since their introduction, and the hobbit did the same because what other option had he left? He talked to the others instead.

Kíli and Fíli sometimes, when they rode beside him and indulged him in a conversation naturally, sharing nothing of their Uncle's opinion on him, for what he was grateful.

He asked them once, after he became more comfortable around them, why didn't they—as the only two in the company—wear the stripes, especially being royalty. As a response they looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, smiled and replied in unison "Because I have my One." And then laughed at his confused expression.

Aside from the young brothers he mostly talked to Bofur and Balin, though, as they were the ones most friendly. 

He was in no mood to talk to any dwarf, who cared not for his company.

~

He found out the fifth day of their journey.

Thorin didn't remember him.

He actually didn't remember him. 

Bilbo finally gathered the courage to talk to him, and the dwarf was all mightier-than-thou and scowling as usual, but when Bilbo asked Why are you doing this? the king looked honestly puzzled and even more so after Bilbo's other questions.

And so Bilbo found out there was something wrong, and made his One think him insane in the process.

He asked Balin one day after—delicately, of course—if Thorin had problems with memory. Balin's eyebrows almost reached his hairline.

"What makes you think so?"

Bilbo shrugged innocently and Balin narrowed his pale eyes in suspicion.

The company was wary of the hobbit. Thorin avoided him altogether, and most of the others were still unsettled by his eyes. That hobbits walked with their eyes revealed must have been quite strange for the dwarves, but Thorin's company, at least, should have been used to it, because of the young princes. And they were, that was not the reason. It was the colour.

It was always about the colour. Bilbo suspected Gandalf told them, after some convincing, the rumours that circulated in the Shire, about how he's gone travelling and came home broken and rejected, and now they didn't know how to act around him.

Bilbo sighed.

At least Balin seemed to overcome the uneasiness and didn't treat him like some widower or something. 

"Well if you need to know, laddie," the old dwarf said at last, "Thorin's memory is quite perfect." He paused for a second, thinking. "Well there is one night he got so drunk, he couldn't remember a single thing in the morning, which was a good thing I suppose, considering what he's been up to . . .But. You don't need to hear about that." he laughed.

Bilbo stared at him.

Balin huffed, amused. "Oh, someone is serious today. Well, there is something. Some time ago, he forgot the events of entire weeks." A single line appeared between the white eyebrows. "He'd been captured, Mahal knows what have they done to him, but it wiped out his memory of almost a month." 

Oh. "When was it?" Bilbo asked quietly.

"Some eight years ago, I think. Why?" 

"I . . ." his throat was painfully constricted.

Bofur came to his rescue, unknowingly, cheerful as ever, already dragging Bilbo away as he spoke. "Balin! Don't mind if I steal our burglar from you for a moment? Bombur needs a hand in making supper."

"No, no. As long as you promise to return him undamaged, do as you please laddie," he answered with a smile.

Bilbo let himself be dragged away, feeling numb. Only he could be so lucky to find his One, only to have him forget they ever met.

"Now," Bofur leaned closer, whispering into his ear conspiratory. "We heard hobbits are spectacular cooks . . ."

*

Thorin Oakenshield spent most of the time watching or thinking of their burglar and wondering what has he ever done to make the Valar be so cruel to him.

The halfling—Bilbo—was his One. He felt the pull when he first looked upon him in Bag End and was about to do something, anything, when he'd realized it. 

His eyes.

They weren't white, they didn't colour. 

They were silver, shiny.

Meaning the hobbit had already found his One and they had gone separate ways. But Thorin never saw the burglar in his life before.

It's horrible to find your One, only to realize you are not theirs, was a line of an old dwarvish story which Thorin always thought made-up. Very few did believe it was possible to find your One and not have your feelings returned. Thorin didn't believe it either.

Until he saw those silver eyes looking up at him.

*

The weather was awful, Gandalf disappeared somewhere earlier, and the company's mood was low. The sky was dark and with the rain falling and mist clinging to the ground, all they could see was the river at their right and forest at left. Nobody felt like talking, not to mention singing so they just jogged miserably in a row, each lost in their own thoughts.

Thorin rode, as always in the front, the company's burglar almost at the end, with only the youngest brothers somewhere behind him.

Bilbo was drowning in self-pity, contemplating what to do, how to act around Thorin—now he knew the king didn't remember, but must have known Bilbo was his One—when he heard the yelp accompanied with a loud thump.

And a splash.

And a desperate cry of "Kíli!"

He turned his head just in time to see the pony being swept away by the current, together with the younger prince and Fíli leaping out of the saddle and jumping into the water after his brother.

Frozen in horror he watched as the river swept both of them forward, Kíli's leg still trapped in one of the stirrups.

He heard an agonized cry, only to realize it was his own. "Thorin! Help! In the river!"

The curve of the river carried the brothers from his sight, but his sharp cry reached the ears of those at the front. Through the mist Bilbo could see little, only indefinite movement, but the figure jumping in the water was hard to miss.

He spurred the pony, which completely ignored him, and after all it would be reckless to ride fast on the muddy and slippery road, so he slid of the saddle and ran on legs. He slipped. And hit his shoulder, hard. It took him a while to get up.

When he reached the semicircle of dwarves, he saw Thorin, soaking wet, his dark hair sticking to his face but doing nothing to hide the mighty frown, because of course it was Thorin who had thrown himself into the river, to his nephews' aid. Bilbo shook with relief upon seeing him breathing and well, with his nephews, of course, being the recipients of that dark expression. (Which in this case translated to worried as hell.)

Óin fussed over the two, Kíli still coughing water, Fíli pale as sheet, clutching his brother's hand in an iron grip, and the rest of the company was hovering around, worried, so the hobbit assumed nobody saw him as he sunk to the ground overwhelmed with relief. He took deep calming breaths, trying to stop thinking about little Irvin and Don, distant nephews of Bilbo, who tragically drowned not two years ago.

When he lifted his gaze at last, there was a king watching him with a deep frown.

~

"You were worried about them," came a deep voice from behind him and Bilbo most definitely did not jumped, nor did he turned around to face the object of his thoughts, with a quiet squeak. But he didn't expect company, at the outskirt of their camp as he was. Most definitely not this company.

"Pardon?" he asked after regaining his composure again, because what even was that statement?

"Fíli and Kíli." And the voice softened infinitesimally at those two names. "You were worried when the fell into the river."

"Well, of course I was worried!" Bilbo cried disbelievingly. "You could have all drowned!"

Thorin stared at him silently, and the hobbit met his gaze, finally mustering up the courage. The dwarf flinched but didn't look away.

Bilbo wondered what they were doing. They both felt the pull, they belonged together, why kept they ignoring each other, why were they so stupid? Then he remembered Thorin was a king and he was just a burglar. (And not even that, in fact.)

"Dinner's ready!" Bofur yelled in the distance. 

Bilbo teared his gaze away and turned towards their camp, making a haste retreat.

"You've known them for less than two weeks." Thorin's voice stopped him, but he didn't turn back.

Silence stretched between them, the only sounds being the talk and grunts from their travelling companions from far away.

"I've told you they remind of my nephews," Bilbo whispered at last and walked away.

And doing so, he didn't hear the king saying "No you didn't" in a confused voice, that bordered on desperate.

~

Rivendell was beautiful and Bilbo was awfully happy to rest after a day spent running from wargs and a nigh trying to prevent your One and his company being eaten by trolls. Oh, long had it been, since he had even remotely perilous and adventurous day.

The elves of Rivendell were magnificent. Bilbo had seen his share of the fair folk in the past, but never this many and in their dwellings, only ever on the road, travelling west. Here he saw elves playing harps and flutes, singing, reading, just walking the corridors with their unearthly grace and the sight made his sad little heart fill with joy for a while, that such beauty existed.

And their eyes. Oh, Bilbo was happy to see another folk that see no point in hiding their true colour. He saw elves and elf-maids with eyes blue as the sky, green, brown, golden, some grey, some white, a few with silver glimmer. Lord Elrond's eyes appeared silver at the first sight, too, and Bilbo felt a pang of sympathy, but when he looked closer he could see traces of brown in them. He asked Gandalf about it.

"Oh," the wizard said and blew out a ring of smoke from his pipe. "Elves are curious creatures. But since you ask, Lord Elrond found his One long ago, he has two sons and a daughter after all, where would they come from?" he asked amused.

Bilbo who had no idea Lord Elrond had three children until now, was still confused. "But, his eyes shine silver. First I thought they were grey and I imagined the silver gleam, as everything about the good elves seems to shine, but no, they're not grey."

"That would be, because Lady Celebrían is still among the living." At Bilbo's lost expression the wizard explained. "When elves tire of the life in Middle-earth or they spirit starts to fade, because of grief or injury, they take the path to the Grey Havens, as you know. Lady Celebrían took that path and now walks with her kin the ground of the undying lands. Yes, yes, and Master Elrond stayed. I see you think it strange, my friend, but elves don't measure time like mortals do. There is much to do in this part of Arda, and children are no small reason to stay, even if it means separating from your One.

"Hundred years is a short time in the life of an elf, dear Bilbo. I think, however, the time Lord Elrond dwells in Middle-earth is coming to an end, too. Oh! To your question. Master Elrond's eyes are brown of colour, though the distance between his One put silver gleam in them. That would be what fooled your eyes."

"Ah, I see." said Bilbo.

"In fact, every one of our hosts here, whose eyes appear silver to you, has their One across the sea. Elves are no folk to abandon their One."

Bilbo's heart clenched and he looked away from Gandalf, to watch the falling waterfalls and streams, with flowers and leaves dancing on them.

"Dwarves are not that kind either, no matter what ill tongues say," the wizard remarked lightly.

Bilbo glanced at him, suspicious, but Gandalf just smiled, put a hand on the hobbit's shoulder briefly, and left him be with his thoughts.

~

The stone giants were terrifying.

The screams of the company, for their brothers and cousins, that were separated from them in the thunder battle, were worse.

"Kíli! Grab my hand!" Fíli cried.

Then it all went to hell.

Bilbo heard a desperate shout somewhere from the other group, but was too busy saving the fair-haired price from falling, as he reached too much for his brother, who was already too far. 

Thunders.

Roars and crashes of stone.

Names being shouted it panic and fear.

As the giant's leg with Thorin and Kíli and five others appeared in front of them Bilbo barely managed to hold his tongue, before Thorin's name emerged his throat. 

"Hold on!" He heard the king's voice above all, saw his outstretched hand and then the giant moved and they were gone.

The stone beneath his feet shook and he slipped, almost falling, saved by Dwalin, whose hand grabbed his pack and pulled him up. He was going to thank him, but then he realized what was happening.

Their giant was falling. And they were going to be smashed against the wall.

He looked around, panicked, and at his right, safely (relatively) on the mountain path again, he saw Thorin with six dwarves behind him. They made it somehow, Bilbo realized and it brought peace to his heart.

That was the last thing he saw, before their giant fell against the wall and they were hurled forward, falling on each, but on the path—miraculously—and the giant didn't squash them, falling deep down instead and Bilbo was thanking all the gods he knew.

"NO!"

"No!"

"Fíli!"

Thorin's shouts were mixed with Kíli's and others and then the king appeared from around the curve of the path, seeing finally they were all right, not crushed against the stone by a falling giant. His eyes found Bilbo first, then Fíli's and he breathed out in relief, leaning against the rock for support.

The other dwarves pushed forward, brother to brother, cousin to cousin and Bilbo couldn't see the king anymore. He pushed off Bombur's leg and tried to stand up, only to be knocked down again, by a rushing dark-haired dwarf prince, hurrying to his brother's side.

Bombur made a displeased sound beneath him and Bilbo pushed of more successfully, apologizing.

"'Tis all right lad." The dwarf patted his knee. "Now help me up, could you, please?"

*

"I'm alright, Kee. I'm alright." Fíli whispered soothingly in his brother's ear, while he trembled in his hands.

"I thought I lost you, I—"

Fíli hugged him tighter and buried his hand in the dark hair.

They parted hastily, when the turmoil at the edge of the cliff erupted and rushed to the group.

"He slipped!"

"Pull him up!"

"Come on!"

The company was piled at one place, all hands reaching for one person, and Fíli tried to lean forward, to see who it was, dreading to find out. 

Thorin jump over the edge and Kíli let out a shocked gasp beside him. 

Moments later Bofur dragged Bilbo over the edge, and Dwalin almost fell down as he reached for Thorin.

Dwalin's grunts, as he stretched his muscles, slowly pulling their king up, were the only sounds from the company. Only when Thorin appeared above the edge everyone started to breathe again.

"I thought we lost our burglar," Dwalin said, half-jokingly and Fíli, knowing the warrior his whole life, heard the undertone of concern in his voice. Every one of the company took to liking their hobbit eventually.

"He's been lost ever since he left home," Thorin roared making even Fíli flinch. "He should never have come," said he, sending the hobbit one of his mightiest frowns.

Bilbo's wide open eyes, made their odd colour stand out even more.

Even Dwalin looked startled at the king's hard tone, but followed him to the cave immediately nonetheless, when Thorin gestured for him.

"What's got into Uncle?" Kíli asked when everyone was already inside.

"I'm not sure," Fíli replied brows drown together. "But, do you remember when you almost got yourself killed, by those wargs back home?"

"Yes, I can't exactly forget that. Thorin yelled at me like crazy after Óin patched me up, and glared at me for weeks." 

Fíli raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Kíli's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh."

Thorin has always worried with harsh words and death glares.

*

It hurt. It hurt to hear him say those things.

I should've really stayed home, Bilbo Baggins thought, while packing his things in the middle of the night.

He couldn't bear it to stay, not after that.

He told goodbye to Bofur and turned to leave. Then the ground opened and they all fell to darkness.

*

They escaped the Goblin town and cold fear gripped Thorin's heart, when he realized Bilbo was not with them.

"Where is he? Where is our hobbit?" someone asked.

"I think I saw him slip away earlier."

"What happened then? Tell me!" Gandalf demanded.

"I think Master Baggins saw his chance and he took." Nori offered.

"He did talk awful lot about his warm bed and comfortable chairs."

"Aye, we will not be seeing our burglar again."

"He is long gone."

Thorin stayed silent, shaking with fury. Fools! He fell with us, he had no chance against the goblins on his own. We have to go back for him. He stayed silent not to scream those words at his bickering companions.

"No, he isn't." 

Thorin turn around in a blink of an eye, with a choked "Bilbo." 

He did get past the goblins, the dwarf realized in awe. He could have taken his chance and go home, he could have been long gone. Thorin certainly wouldn't blame him, after everything that happened. He'd be safe at home.

"Why did you come back?" his lips posed the question before he was able to control his voice.

Bilbo's eyes darted to his for a second, before speaking and looking at the ground. "Look, I know you don't want me here. You never did. And it's—fine. You don't need to like me, I mean; I'm just your burglar. And yes, I miss Shire, I miss my home, but I came back because I realized it must be hundred times worse for you. Because you don't have a home, it was taken from you. And I want to help you take it back if I can."

Balin patted Bilbo on the shoulder welcomingly and all of the dwarves smiled fondly at him, apologized for doubting him, moved by his words, and Thorin was frozen in place, just staring at the hobbit, because—I know you don't want me here, you don't need to like me, just your burglar.

Did he really leave that impression on the one he cherished the most in his heart?

And he wanted drop on his knees in front of the hobbit and apologize and say he didn't mean any of those things, but then the orcs were after them and they were running again.

In retrospect he was glad for the timing.

He wasn't sure what would have happened after he'd drop on his knees just then, begging for love of his One, who couldn't love him in return.

*

Thorin Oakenshield was mad, completely insane. That's the only explanation Bilbo could come up with.

He was running through the fire, straight into Azog's arms.

The pale orc rode a warg, a big one, and was standing on a rock, high above Thorin. The dwarf had no chance. And he just ran faster.

The beast jumped and sent him hard to the ground. The dwarf stood up again and the pale orc hit him right in the jaw with his mace, making Bilbo's heart stop, because for a second he believed what he would see hitting the ground again, would be a body with a bloody mess, instead of a head.

Then the warg lifted the dwarf in his teeth and Thorin screamed.

A number of "No"—gasped, whispered or cried in anguish—rose as an answer and the tree shook with the renewed effort of the dwarves to get up, and help their king. But the only one light and small enough to do so was Bilbo.

Bilbo, who didn't even think about what he was doing, blind in a desperate need to help his One, Bilbo, whose sense of danger abandoned him, right after it abandoned Thorin. He saw nothing but the orc who held a knife at his dwarf's throat.

He attacked with furry, his tiny elvish blade in hand, pushing the orc away from Thorin, not really caring what would happen to him, just needing to get the vile creature away from Thorin. 

When the glowing blade pierced the heavy armour and his enemy ceased struggling, he stared surprised for a moment. He remembered himself, however, as the remaining orcs on wargs, with a very pissed off looking Azog moved towards him.

He got up hastily, standing in front of the dwarf's unconscious body, feeling ridiculously small and useless, knowing he'll fail Thorin. He had no chance.

And yet, when the Lord of the Eagles came with his kin at Gandalf's plea, to save the company of fifteen, he saw a hobbit facing the beasts fearlessly with fire in his eyes, determined to protect his One to his last breath.

~

"Bilbo?" Thorin asked, as he opened his eyes.

The company relaxed, seeing he was not grievously harmed and Gandalf smiled. Bilbo watched as the king rose with his nephews' help to face him, with heart drumming in his chest, still breathing fast from adrenaline.

"You," the dwarf gasped and Bilbo winced. "What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!"

The hobbit lowered his head staring at the ground so he didn't see Thorin approaching.

But then, there were strong arms around him, pulling him close and he looked up in shock to see Thorin's eyes, just before he buried his head in the hobbit's shoulder. 

And then Bilbo felt Thorin's words breathed against his ear, whispered in a broken voice—"I've never been so afraid for anyone else, in all my life," and the hands crushing him against his One's body tightened even more around him. "Don't ever do that again."

~

To the tired and hungry company, the safety and warmth of Beorn's house was a heaven. Food filled empty stomachs, drinks were being poured down the dry throats and after the dinner the dwarves sung and laughed, joyful, feeling content for the moment.

Beorn sat in front of the fireplace in a huge chair, gazing into the flames, while the dwarves settled beside him, basking in the warmth of the fire. Gandalf smoked his pipe and to their host he told what happened to them in the mountains, about the goblins and the orcs, as it was of great interest to the shape-shifter. Upon hearing about Azog, Beorn's face darkened, but he was greatly pleased when he learned of their killing the Great Goblin, as he hated his kind fiercely.

Bilbo ate with his companions, as his stomach was no fuller then theirs—and he was a hobbit, he would never miss a meal—but now he didn't join them by the fire. He sat alone as far as possible, in a quiet corner, looking out of a large window, mind filled with thoughts of one particular dwarf.

I've never been so afraid for anyone else, in all my life.

He sounded like one's One was supposed to, at the Carrock, like he cared. Worried, so worried. Worried about Bilbo's life. It was too good and Bilbo felt tears prickling his eyes. Better not to get used to it.

He snapped back to reality when he heard him approaching. He'd know those steps anywhere.

Thorin sunk into the seat next to him, as if seeking the lonely hobbit's presence, over the dwarves' and Gandalf's was a common thing.

Bilbo peeked at him suspiciously, from under his eyelashes. 

He looked distant, gazing out of the window, not even glancing at Bilbo, as if lost in his own thoughts, too. His eyes were weary, a big bruise flowered on his cheekbone and temple, and bandages covering his chest and left arm peeked from beneath the simple blue tunic. He looked like he needed sleep.

"You need sleep." 

Thorin sighed, never looking away from the window. "Aye, we all do," he conceded and even his voice sounded tired, quiet. He sighed again, deeper, and brought his head in his hands, down on his knees, in a very unkingly manner.

When he straightened again, the fabric covering his eyes was loosened, as it slipped from behind his ear on one side and Bilbo reached for it absent-mindedly, and tucked it back in place, tracing the subtle pattern with his fingers. Only when Thorin inhaled sharply, he realized what he was doing and immediately jerked his hand back, bowing his head to hide the blush rising in his cheeks.

The hobbit looked up after a while, once the embarrassment passed somewhat, to find the dwarf's gaze fixated on the view from the window once more, pensive silence around him, and he wandered what the king's mind was set on. 

They sat quietly for a long moment and Bilbo was about to remark that brooding does one no good, when Thorin suddenly teared his head from the window and looked squarely into his eyes. They stared at each other, Thorin contemplatively, Bilbo confused and questioning, but refusing to be the first to look away. He tilted his chin up infinitesimally, as if daring the king to told him what was on his mind.

Thorin didn't look away either. "Who was it?" he asked finally, his deep, quiet, somehow deflated voice, shattering the silence.

"Who was who?"

"Your One."

"My One?" Bilbo squeaked. That was not a question he expected. What even was that question?

"Yes, your One. If you'd tell me, I'd like to hear about . . . Her?" He looked at Bilbo questioningly and the hobbit only managed to shook his head a little, mouth hanging open. "Him? Him." The king took a deep breath and then blurted out. "He left you. I can not understand that, how could anyone leave you? What happened?"

"Thorin . . .?" he heard the utter confusion in his own voice.

The dwarf bowed his head. "You need not tell me, if this is making you uncomfortable, I understand. It probably is. I shouldn't even have asked in the first place, I apologize, I—" He stood up suddenly and the hobbit's hand reached to grip his wrist automatically.

"Thorin. Sit. Down." Bilbo hissed. He didn't understand what was happening, what was Thorin talking about, but he was determined to set everything right, starting with his wrong assumptions. "My One is—?" He waited for the king to fill in, but he just looked at Bilbo, confused. He gave up. "You."

Thorin stared. "No," said he in a flat voice, and it felt like a slap to Bilbo's face.

He smiled sadly, even if it didn't reach his eyes. "You can deny it all you want, but it's not going to change, you are my One and I am yours. I understand why would you not be thrilled about it, it's just me after all . . ."

"No," the dwarf stopped him. "I can't be your One. You're eyes are silver, they were when I first saw you, they were when I first felt the pull. But we've never met before. I can't be your One." He slump deeper into the seat.

"Oh, Thorin, but we have met." Bilbo smiled gently. "Only you don't remember, I learned recently." 

"What." It sounded like the king had no air left in his lungs. "When?"

"Eight years ago, in Bree, talked one whole night in the Prancing Pony."

Comprehension slowly flooded Thorin's face after a long moment. "Oh. When those bastards . . . Now, that makes . . . Oh."

"Balin said, you couldn't remember a thing after that, no wonder you forgot me, too." Bilbo shrugged, like it was nothing, even when his heart ached in his chest like never before.

Suddenly there was a hand tugging at his and Thorin urged him up, dragging him by his elbow, with a stormy expression on face. "Thorin? Where are we going?"

"Garden."

*

His One was seated on a bench watching gobsmacked, as Thorin dropped on his knees, so the hobbit was for once taller, taking his small hands into his bigger, calloused ones.

"I am your One," Thorin stated.

"Yes."

"And we met eight years ago, we talked and then I was abducted and you thought I just left."

"Yes."

Thorin swallowed audibly and continued, a strained quality to his voice. "And you lived all those years thinking I didn't want you?" 

"I—yes." Bilbo whispered, voice breaking at the single syllable

"Oh, Bilbo," the dwarf choked out and tightened his grip on the hobbit's hands until he looked in his eyes. He continued with an imperceptible quiver in his words. "I can not tell enough you how sorry I am you had to go through that, I can not tell you how much more I hate those—traitors, now I know their action are what cause me to hurt you inadvertently, I can not tell you how much I wish I could somehow unmade all my mistakes since this journey began." He took a deep breath, and continued gently. "But, Bilbo, I can tell you how dear you are to me, how grateful I am that I found you, for the second time as it seems, that you have opened my eyes, my blind, stupid eyes, I can tell you every day from now on, how great is my love for you." He looked at Bilbo almost tentatively. "That is, if you wish me to."

Bilbo made a pained sound and closed his eyes. "If I wish you to," he whispered almost inaudibly.

Thorin loosened his grip on hobbit's hand a little, deflating, but then Bilbo opened his eyes.

They were bright green, no traces of silver and a smile exploded on his face. "You idiot!" he laughed and there was no anger in it. "Of course I do," he continued in a gentler tone, "there is nothing I would like more."

And Thorin felt light, as if tremendous weight have been lifted from his shoulder, and felt the pull towards his hobbit stronger than ever. He rose, pulling Bilbo up with their joined hands and crushed him against his chest in a tight embrace. Bilbo laughed through it and the sound was the sweetest and loveliest thing to the dwarf's ears.

They stayed like that, embracing, for a long time, until finally Bilbo pushed away gently and Thorin was left staring into his eyes, stunned. Because the unnatural silver had disappeared, taking the sadness, too, leaving green as grass in its wake, with a twinkle of mischief and joy, and it was just so Bilbo, Thorin couldn't help but smile.

"What colour are they?" asked Bilbo with a small smile.

The dwarf lifted his hand to his One's cheek. "Green. They're green."

Bilbo leaned into his touch and huffed in amusement. "Good to know. Silver looked bad on me."

"Nothing could look bad on you," the king said bluntly and watched with great interest as crimson bloomed on the hobbit's cheeks, touching the tips of his ears.

Then he remembered, and reached for the tiny clasps his ears, holding in place the stripe of fabric he wore across his eyes. He saw Bilbo's mouth open in surprise, but before the hobbit could utter a single word, he removed the fabric, feeling weirdly bare and vulnerable.

Bilbo stared with a dumbstruck expression and Thorin wondered for a moment if there was something wrong. "What colour are they?" he asked.

Bilbo stood before him impersonating a fish, with that mouth agape, a little longer, until he whispered softly, quietly. "Beautiful."

The word warmed Thorin to the core of his heart and he felt a wide smile, such as he didn't smile in ages, tugging at his lips. "I don't remember hearing about such colour, Master Baggins." 

At that, Bilbo smiled though the awe in his expression didn't change. "Oh, I do Master Dwarf, I heard of it plenty, just never saw it myself." He grinned. "And here it is, embodied before me."

Thorin laughed, the sound emerging from the depths of his chest, catching him surprised and impossible to stop.

"They're blue," Bilbo said at last. "But not like Fíli's, darker, much darker. Like the sky long after sundown, but when the darkness has not yet set in, dark blue with tiny stars visible. Beautiful."

Dark blue. It felt right. Thorin pulled Bilbo down, to sit on the bench with him again and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. "Shaming me with your poetic similes are you, givashel?" he murmured into the soft brown curls. "To think I only described yours as green . . ."

Bilbo chuckled amused. "No, no, it's quite all right, I can't imagine you serenading about my eyes anyway, besides I've—"

"Green like emeralds they are," Thorin interrupted in unnaturally sweet voice, hand on his heart. "Pure and deep, like the finest of the gems they shine, my light in the darkness—" 

He was cut off by an outburst of laugher and watched amused as the hobbit wiped tears from his eyes.

"As I was saying," Bilbo said after some time. "I've already seen my eyes green."

And suddenly Thorin's joyful mood was gone.

"I stood in front of mirror good five minutes that day; it was so different I couldn't believe it." Bilbo shook his head. "Of course, I didn't know then, the next time I'll look into mirror they'll be silver instead."

Something deep in Thorin's chest hurt at the sight of his One talking so lightly about what must have surely be painful at the time. He ran his thumb gently over Bilbo's hand, knowing no 'I am sorry' would make it right.

Bilbo's fingers twitched and he entwined them with Thorin's, with a small smile on his lips, only a hint of sadness showing. "I have question though. After you—Well after the Bree incident, what colour were your eyes? I always though silver, thinking you just left, but knowing you don't remember . . . You never actually saw my eyes before that evening in Bag End, did you? So white?"

"Yes. Completely blank. Don't you think if I'd woken up having silver eyes—or blue—I would have searched all the places I've visited, while those days I didn't remember, to find you?" Thorin asked honestly and watched as Bilbo duck his head to hide the blush and a ridiculous smile Thorin could see anyway, thinking how horrible he must have been to his One is such simple statement could get such reaction. He quietly swore to himself to make up for it through their future.

He leaned closer to his hobbit whispering in his ear. "I would have searched the whole Arda to find you." 

Bilbo blushed even more and he buried his head in Thorin's chest, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "You old sap" and Thorin felt his lips twitch.

Suddenly Bilbo lifted his head. "You didn't have to though; I'm the one chasing you through half of the Middle-earth. But, Thorin, if you had all these—feelings from the start . . .?" Bilbo looked at him and Thorin nodded in agreement. "Why did you never acted on them?" his hobbit asked incredulously and this time it was Thorin's turn to duck his head.

"I thought I wasn't your One," he mumbled.

"What?" Bilbo asked disbelievingly.

"I said, I—"

"No, I heard you," he cut him off. "You though you weren't my One, when you knew I was yours? But that doesn't happen," said the hobbit bewildered. "Does it?"

"There is a story among dwarves," Thorin said quietly, "about a dwarf whose eyes turned silver right away and his heart broke when he saw his One for the first time, because her eyes were already as blue as the sky when he looked in them and a she carried a child. I did believe it just a story, but then I looked into your eyes and they were silver and I though we've never met before . . . What else could I make of it?" 

Bilbo wrapped his small arms around his waist and Thorin closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

"It's just a story, Thorin; I don't think the Valar would be that cruel to anybody, I don't think it would be even possible. Two souls are meant for each other, there's no place for a third in there," Bilbo said soothingly and Thorin had to agree now, facing the facts.

"I know," he said, looking away. "It was foolish of me to think so and waste our time." 

Bilbo stroked his hand. "Oh no, love, it wasn't foolish." Thorin felt his heart skipping a beat as the endearment so easily passed his hobbit's lips. "If I could think you don't want me, because you're going to marry some royal dwarvish lass and have lots of heirs, you could certainly think I don't want you because I already found my One. Even if it's ridiculous." He nudged Thorin's ribs with his elbow, but the dwarf only stared back.

"You though I didn't want you, so I could marry someone else?" he asked incredulously.

"Um, yes?" Bilbo stammered sheepishly. 

"Why would you think that of me?" Thorin asked bewildered. "No dwarf would ever marry that who is not their One."

"I'm sorry," said Bilbo hastily. "I didn't mean to offend you—"

"You didn't, it's not that," Thorin cut him off. "But why would you even think that? Dwarves are monogamous, always truthful to their One and I may say extremely jealous and protective of them. Is that not so in hobbit culture?" Thorin asked confused.

"Yes it is, we, too, only marry our Ones. But . . ." he trailed off, looking at Thorin uncertainly.

"But?" the dwarf asked with furrowed eyebrows.

The hobbit fidgeted with his fingers. "I don't wish to offend you, or your kind." 

Thorin laid his hand over those thin fingers, stilling them and spoke in a gentler tone his line by his eyebrows smoothing. "I shall take no offence from your words; I swear by Mahal's name."

Bilbo looked at him, eyes wide in shock, understanding the importance of such vow. "Well then." He cleared his throat. "The rumours are that royalty—but not only—of dwarves and men marry sometimes not for love but for power, money or positions instead. It's supposed to be why you wear the stripes." Bilbo touched the fabric lying on the bench beside him, lightly. "To cover the silver eyes. Not that I believed it much, but when you didn't want me, I thought . . . maybe? Maybe I just wasn't enough?" His voice was tentative, quiet, and Thorin's heart almost broke, knowing he was the cause of this insecurity.

So he bent down and pressed his lips against Bilbo's, briefly, but firmly, with love and devotion, leaving the hobbit wide-eyed when he pulled back and said: "You are more than enough, Bilbo Baggins, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. And I shall never take another, but you for my spouse."

And when Thorin saw tears in Bilbo's eyes he didn't comment on it, only drew him near pressing him against his side again, one arm around him.

"And for the stripes," he said, wanting to make everything clear. "It's more of an old habit these days. It the past members of important families wore them so their enemies wouldn't know whether they were still unbonded, or whether they found their One already. Those were sensitive information, as there is nothing a dwarf wouldn't do for his One. And if that dwarf happened to be royalty, or Mahal-forbid a king, his enemies would benefit greatly from having his One in their hands, as then the dwarf would bend to their will. The stripes were the only way to prevent situations like that, in the past, and much needed as there used to be great animosity between certain families."

"That makes sense." Bilbo nodded. 

"Now, however, it is just a remaining tradition, as there is no longer such hostility among our race. There are too few of us now, to afford such thing. And the most hostile family died out slowly, the last members were . . . taken care of eight years ago."

"Eight years ago, huh?" Bilbo said as understanding downed on him "Well, it is a good thing they were taken care of, then." 

When his One laced their fingers in his lap, the dark memories cleared off his mind and Thorin could only smile. "Good thing, indeed."

*

They talked at length, about the night in Bree and about other things as well, and returned to Beorn's hall only when the sun set behind the horizon. As they stepped through the door nobody even turned to glance at them.

Bilbo looked in Thorin's eyes—so beautiful and blue, not covered with any fabric—and he grinned. His dwarf insisted he'd not wear the stripe, when Bilbo offered he'd tie it back in place, saying it was time to break old customs when they were pointless and Bilbo didn't see point in further protesting. He understood though, this was a big gesture from his dwarf, and halted him just before they entered, to kiss him properly this time.

Most of company still sat by the fire and some were busy making beds at the side of the hall, on a sort of raised platform, between the pillars and the wall.

Kíli, arranging the blanket closest to them, noticed their presence finally, as they began to make their way towards the centre of the room. "Uncle! Bilbo! There you are! We were wondering where have you—" he turned wholly, to look at them finally, and promptly fell silent, freezing in place, as he no doubt caught sight of their eyes. 

As Kíli falling silent is a rather rare occurrence, his brother turned to look at them almost instantly with a "What—" on his lips, only to lose speech too. Really, Bilbo though it a bit exaggerated.

Both of the brothers falling silent, was too weird for it to go unnoticed, and most of the dwarves turned to look at their approaching king with a hobbit by his side. Each froze in their actions.

The dead silence was broken by Nori's disbelieving whisper of "Durin's balls, it happened" and then Bifur cheered, others joining in momentarily, until the room was full of laugher and whistles and Bilbo's cheeks burned. Gandalf looked incredibly smug by the fire, not even trying to be subtle about it, and even Beorn winked at Bilbo with a grin.

Kíli draped himself around Bilbo and Fíli grinned at him with an "Uncle Bilbo!" and Thorin laughed next to him, a bright and joyful sound that was unusual for the dwarf.

Then the onslaught of questions began. 

"Uncle is your One, Bilbo? But your eyes were silver?"

"Aye, how can it be, you've not met before, Thorin, did, you?" Dwalin joined in.

"How can it be?" curious voiced repeated versions of the same question over and over, until Thorin put a stop to it.

"That's enough. The story can wait for tomorrow," he said and while there were a few disappointed mutters around the room and Kíli and Fíli looked downright crestfallen everybody stopped asking, and returned to their previous activities.

Fíli and Kíli lay down earlier, while Thorin joined the others by the fire and Bilbo sat with Gandalf, talking quietly for a while, before sitting by Thorin.

Time passes quickly when in good company, with bellies full and thoughts merry and soon it was dark night outside. When Beorn left, and the fire began to die out, the dwarves slowly retired to sleep one by one and no one was in the slightest surprised when they found their burglar wrapped in their king's arms, lying by the young princes wrapped in each other.

*

The Arkenstone was a vile thing planting madness in Thorin's mind, but when he saw the silver in his hobbit's eyes shining through the beautiful green, cold fear drove the gold sickness out of him and Thorin dropped on his knees, hoping it was not too late, the heart of the Mountain falling from his hands, clinking against the ground, forgotten.

When pure green eyes looked back a sob teared its way out of Thorin's chest and tears of relief flooded his eyes.

Time came, and he promised Bard and Thranduil their share of the gold and gems and mithril, overcoming the old hatred in a blink of an eye, for his mind remembered the silver gleam in his One's eyes, and his heart knew true fear.

When the orcs came, Dwarves, Men and Elves stood united against the dark forces, and the enemy crushed against the walls of warriors protecting Erebor, protecting their precious stones and metals, their promise of future, fighting bravely with axes and hammers and spears and swords and arrows flying through the air.

And when the Lord of the Eagles came, from the sky high above, he saw a dwarven king in the midst of it all, fighting with fire in his eyes to protect what his heart held most dear—a single hobbit, he came to understand was his home.

*

As the end of the battle neared, keen eagle's eyes saw a sword of a man cut off the head of an enemy, whose blade aimed at a young, dark-haired Durin's heir. He saw elvish arrow pierce the heart of an orc, whose bow was bent, the black-feathered arrow meant for a fair-haired dwarf, who will become king one day.

And he saw the young brothers fighting side by side, not knowing, how close they just escaped death, not knowing how their Uncle was saved by an eagle whom his kind called Lord, when he descended from the sky and ripped the tightening circle of beasts, that separated Thorin Oakenshield from his people in the madness of the battle, with his beak and claws.

*

And I've lost who I am, and I can't understand.  
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love, without, love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on.  
But I know, all I know, is that the end's beginning.  
Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart.  
Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent.  
All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain.  
All is lost, hope remains, and this war's not over.  
There's a light, there's the sun, taking all the shattered ones,  
To the place we belong, and his love will conquer all.  


**Author's Note:**

> The song is 'Shattered' by Trading Yesterdays.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Thank you for reading. :)


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